oceans

(So I wrote this in January and am just publishing it now....)

It has been raining steadily for 5 days. There is a pond in the middle of our yard.  Our porch is growing green fuzz.  Our cars are covered with a spray of salt from the last snow and our shoes are caked in mud. It's wet.  It's cold.  It's grey.

To combat the mold threatening my soul, I daydream about the beach.  My Coastal Living magazines fill the basket beside my bathtub.   Mykonos or Kauai?  Bathing suits are chosen and ideas fill my beach bags.  I'm rereading A Trip To The Beach, the story of the Blanchard family relocating to Anguilla to open a beachfront restaurant.  I'm so engrossed in their humid, sandy, tropical existence that even their descriptions of lobster rolls and rum punch are starting to make my mouth water.

"If only I could go to the beach and thaw out....then I would be happy...."

It's a sentence like that that makes me remember John the Revelator's strange picture of Heaven.  I read this passage to my patients all the time so it sticks with me.
21:1 Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea.

No sea?  It always jolts me.  Especially in the winter when my view of pure heaven is one beach vacation after another.

And then I picture John.  Sitting on that Patmos rock.  With miles and miles of water separating him from the people he loves.  His family, his church, his community.  Unreachable.  And he rebels at the ocean in front of him by saying "Never again..."

I get that today in a new way.  It's still cold.  It's still raining.  After a meeting at work, I drove to my brother's house.  I changed into yoga pants and a sweatshirt and started scrubbing the floorboards.  Movers were carting the last pieces of furniture out to the huge moving van that blocked the driveway.  Damp, foggy chill settled as I cleaned in the already cleaned-out house.

I remember the day we found this house.  Matt was already working here.  Jenn had flown out for a house hunt and after ten not-right houses, they decided to rent an apartment, until she moved here and could take her time looking.  She flew back to California.  And then the realtor called. There was a house that had come on the market today.  It had the red door and huge back yard Jenn wanted.

Matt and I drove across town and turned into a picturesque neighborhood.  Six houses on one side of a treelined lane.  They all shared a giant back yard/field that ended in a creek.  Jenn's dream of Kennedy family style football games on Thanksgiving were easily pictured here.  Matt called Jenn and after talking her through the house he handed the phone to me.  "So is this a 'we could make this work' house or 'you will really love this' house?" Jenn asked.  "I think you will really love it." I said.

They bought it.  And thirty days later, to my great relief, she loved it!  So did we, as we sat on the back porch and watched our boys and my nieces playing together in the back yard.  That same back yard became our traditional 4th of July party spot - We potlucked festive picnic food and watched fireworks with a growing group of their neighbors and friends.  The white dining room was painted a dark red.  That's where we gathered around the table for Thanksgiving dinners.  One evening in late October we had a pumpkin carving contest on their screened in porch.  Many Sunday mornings after a long run we hung out in their kitchen to finish talking and rehydrate at the round white table by the window.

Six years flew by.  We had totally settled into the "take it for granted that we are neighbors" rhythm  when a dream job was offered.   A For Sale sign was hammered into the grass outside of the red door.  Jenn flew to California to start work.  And I came over, that last rainy day to help Matt close up the house.  My mood was as dark as the weather.  I was tired of the stupid rain.  Tired of the stupid middle of the country that makes North Carolina so far from California.  Tired of goodbyes.  Tears in my eyes, I remembered John on Patmos.  I understood in a new way why he railed at the ocean that separated him from his family and how he longed for Heaven.

I still believe there will be lots of oceans in Heaven.  Long stretches of warm, soft sand.  Gentle waves lapping on the beach.  Bright sunshine streaming down.  And my family and friends in adjoining seaside mansions.  No more goodbyes or months between visits.  No more separation. Never again.